


Don't smile at me like that

by Fantony



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Housemates, Hurt Percival Graves, M/M, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Percival's past catches up with him, Protective Original Percival Graves, Theseus is not exactly a good brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantony/pseuds/Fantony
Summary: A smile. That's all it took. A smile. No. Not just a smile. That smile. That bloody smile. The very same Theseus wore every time we argued. The one that made me want to strangle him with my own hands, but also the one that made me mumble 'Yes, of course, I forgive you', even when he had just broken my heart into a thousand pieces. The only difference is that Theseus was fully aware of the power that smile had on me. Newton... Well, Newton doesn't have the faintest idea. He smiles at you with the innocence of a child. He makes you lower your guard and before you even realise it, just like the Trojan horse, he enters the fortress of your heart without inviting suspicion.Newt Scamander is about to leave America but Grindelwald's sympathisers have put a price on his head. Percival Graves offers him to live at his place until a safety measure is set up. But is this really his only reason to keep Newt in NYC? Is Newt really the one who needs protection? Seven months of sequestration and tortures have degraded Percival's powers but his most painful wounds are not the most visible ones. His new housemate will definitely help him heal.Percival 1st person POV.





	1. CÉAD MÍLE FÁILTE

****

“Mr Scamander!”

Eyes fixed on Newt Scamander’s mop of tousled hair, I’m making my way through the crowd of Times Square, shoving everyone out of my way. A lady pushing a pram. An old man with impressive sideburns. A little boy holding an enormous ice cream in his hand which, in the rush, ended up spilled all over his school uniform. People give me angry glares and mumble curses under their breath which I just ignore.

“Sorry!... Sorry!” I reply absent-mindedly.

I am breathless when I catch up with Scamander. Doctor Maynard was right. It was presumptuous of me to assume that I had fully recovered in four days from seven months of tortures. I feel like I’ve aged twenty years. But I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Mr Scamander?” I ask, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He jumps and turns around, alarmed.

“Oh, it’s you…”

A look of relief washes over him and his face brightens with a smile. That smile… I am momentarily speechless. His eyes are more green than azure-blue. His hair is more red than brown and he’s got freckles all over his face, but that smile… He’s got the same smile.

“I… I’m sorry…” I stammer, a little discountenanced. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

“No… No, it’s fine. I was just…” He looks nervously around. “… lost in thought.”  

“Percival Graves,” I introduce myself, holding out my hand. I feel him hesitate. “The _real one_ , if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Oh! No! I mean… I know you’re not… Your eyes… Your eyes are different… There was something very dark in his eyes… _Very_ dark.” He finally shakes my hand. “Newt Scamander. But I think you already know who I am. Glad to see you up and running. I didn’t think you’d leave hospital that soon, to be honest.”

“Yes, it is a bit prematurate, indeed. I was supposed to spend at least fifteen more days in hospital, but then I learnt you were about to leave America by the end of the week and I urged the doctors to let me leave. I was told where you were staying, but when I arrived at the hotel, you had just left. Your picture was on the front page of _The Pettifogger (1)_ – not that I read that rag, huh! – so it made it easy for me to spot you in the crowd. It must be said that your coat doesn’t exactly go unnoticed.”

For a short instant, he is staring into space, as if he was trying to remember each of my words, to fit them together like pieces of a puzzle and to make some sense out of them.

“Err… Is there… Is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, uncertain.  

“No! No… You’ve already done more than enough! Miss Goldstein told me all about your adventure and President Picquery couldn’t stop praising your name. I am deeply indebted to you. I’d rather not imagine how much longer I would have rotted in that rathole without your help. I just couldn’t resolve to let you go back to England without thanking you properly.”  

“Oh… I cannot take credit for this,” he protests, waving his hand in the air. “It’s Archibald who found you.”

I raise an inquisitive brow.

“Archibald?”

“Yes. Archibald. My crup.” _(2)_

I must look even more confused for he hastens to add in a low voice:

“Oh, sorry! Crups strongly resemble Muggl- well, No-Majs’s dogs. The only difference is that they have a forked tail. And a keener sense of smell. It’s been a walk in the park for him to find you.”

“I see… I’d like to thank my saviour viva voce but you know how the MACUSA is now, if you let him out of your case, I’ll then have no choice but to arrest you. And that would be incredibly upsetting…”

I smile at him and he chuckles nervously while touching the frontal pocket of his coat. For a second, I’d swear I saw what looked like a praying mantis. The fruit of my imagination, probably. Or the side effects of all those healing potions I have been given the last couple of days.

“Yes, and believe me, it wouldn’t be a good idea anyway. Crups are really nice to wizards but they have a grudge against No-Majs. And Archibald is a bundle of nerves!”

“Then I count on you to thank him on my behalf.”

“I certainly will.”

I feel him on the verge of taking his leave of me and I can’t resign myself to letting him go. I have to talk to him. I _need_ to talk to him.

 “Look, what would you say to me inviting you to lunch? I owe you that one. I know a very good restaurant on the corner of the 47th street. The manageress is an Irish witch and her lamb stew is exquisite!”

“That’s really kind of you but… you owe me nothing, really. And I’m a vegetarian, anyway.”

Of course he is. How did I not think about that? A man who dedicates his life to taking care of animals certainly doesn’t wish them to end up on his plate.

“Well, her asparagus pie is said to be delicious,” I answer maliciously. “Oh, come on. Please?”

“Very well. You win. I’m coming!” He abdicates, his lips curling into a smile.

And Merlin forgives me, but I hate that smile as much as I cherish it. That smile could earn him anything he wants from me. Because he’s got the same smile.

* * *

We were only a few minutes walk away from the 47th street but the journey literally wore me out. Yet I’m doing my best not to let it show when I turn into that dark alley which is so familiar to me.

A rat gets out of a bin lying on its side. A gutter pours greenish liquid onto the cobblestones and a sewer smell tickles our nostrils.

“I had imagined a bit more refined place,” Scamander jokes. “Are you sure they serve asparagus here?”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be so slanderous. Wait a second…”

I place my hand on the middle of the wall, on a slightly darker brick and, after having checked we were away from prying eyes, I whisper an incantation. Nothing happens.

“It should open…” I grumble.

“Don’t you ever use your wand?”

“It is forbidden if we are likely to be witnessed by No-Majs.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Do you really know any No-Maj who’d venture into such a sordid cul-de-sac?! It’s a cut-throat area!”

I ignore him and repeat the incantation.

“Dammit! Why does it not open?!”

I’m not strong enough anymore to generate wandless magic. I feel like I’ve been drained of all my energy, my legs threaten to fold beneath me and my head is spinning, spinning… oooOOOOOOh!

Scamander catches me just before my head hits the ground.

“You have to have good reflexes when you breed occamys,” he explains, noticing my surprise. “because, you see, when they are brooding, if you come a little too close to… It doesn’t matter… It doesn’t interest anyone but me… “

“No, no! Go on, please!”

“No, really!” He shakes his head and smiles.

Always that bloody smile.

“Are you alright?” he asks, helping me to get up.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I think. I’m just feeling a little weak.”

He adjusts my scarf, slowly, his eyes focused on the piece of fabric. When he looks up, his eyes meet mine and for once, he doesn’t try to avoid them. We stare at each other in silence for a moment. I’m getting lost in a labyrinth of freckles and my heart starts to beat faster than it should. Dammit.

“May I?” he asks after a while.

I swallow hard and instinctively close my eyes.

He gently moves me away from the wall, bringing me out of my torpor.

“To hell with the American laws!” He exclaims, brandishing his wand and pointing it at the wall in a gracious move. ““CÉAD MÍLE FÁILTE!” _(3)_

* * *

**Thanks for reading! :-)**

_(1)_ _I’ve named it The Pettifogger as a nod to the Quibbler._

 _(2)_ _The crups are really part of JKR’s magical bestiary. You can learn more about them by googling their name._

 _(3)_ _Literally “A hundred thousand welcomes” in Irish Gaelic._


	2. The Green Clover

 

“Have you lost your mind?!” I yell, grabbing him by the collar as the bricks are starting to move and form an arch to reveal the door to the Green Clover. “Do you have any idea what you’re risking, using your wand right in the middle of New-York?!!” He shakes his head, looking as frightened as a cornered wild animal. “Article 57-B of the American magical penal code: the use of wand is strictly forbidden in any area frequented by No-Majs except in self-defence and only if the degree of force used is not disproportionate,” I recite. “So have a look around you and tell me, Mr Scamander, do you see anyone or _anything_ likely to threaten your life?” It takes him a bit more time to shake his head and it hurts my feelings that he may consider me, even for a few seconds, as a potential threat. I release his collar.

“I thought you were the Director of Magical Security,” he mumbles in a barely audible voice.

“I am,” I reply, frowning, a little disconcerted by his reaction.

“And that the decision to apprehend, imprison or sentence to death a criminal fell down to you.”

“That’s correct. Even if in reality, things are a little bit more complicated than that.” He’s really trying my patience now. “Listen, I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at…”

“Would you really arrest me for having used my wand in a deserted dead end alley with no witness but yourself and a sewer rat, and in order to reveal the door to the restaurant in which _you_ wanted to take me to lunch?”  

With the exception of Grindelwald, no one had dared to stand up to me like that for a very long time. I should be outraged. Scandalised. Furious. I’m not. I can’t. There he is, standing before me, shifty eyes and red ears, clutching his case so hard his knuckles are white and nervously tapping his foot against a cobblestone. I look him up and down and I try to think _‘cheeky’_ , _‘impudent’_ , _‘barefaced’_ , but the first word to cross my mind is… _‘cute’_. He makes insolence sound sweet and innocent and I’m starting to think that I really got myself into hot water.

I let out a sigh, almost sorry that I lectured him when I owe him my freedom, and I clear my throat.

“How is it that you knew the password, anyway?” I ask, in a much quieter tone.

“You’d pronounced it twice just before.”  

“Pronounced it? I’ve barely whispered it!”

“Well… I can lip-read. I learnt to do so thanks to the marmoducks. There are little creatures from Madagascar and look like marmosets but their hind limbs are webbed. They are extremely intelligent. They can learn up to one hundred and twenty words! They are unable to reproduce sounds though, so you have to read their lips if you want to understand them.”

“I see…” I reply, a little too offended by the parallel established between myself and a monkey with duck legs, to be completely convinced. “After you,” I say, pointing at the door.

We enter the restaurant and all eyes are on us except those of the mistress of the house, Caoilfhoinn Halloran, who is too busy preparing a cocktail behind the counter.

“Well, well! Isn’t it Mister Graves?” she says without looking up while fruits are swirling in the air around her.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Caoilfhoinn,” I answer politely.

The fruits fall in small square pieces into a glass and she walks around the counter to get closer to me, pushing wisps of red curls away from her eyes.

“Perci, you little charmer! You make it sound like you haven’t seen me for ages whereas you showed your ugly mug around here every single day of last week!”

I grit my teeth. Grindelwald did not only steal my appearance and my identity, he also stole my habits. My favourite places. My acquaintances. Without anyone noticing. The only one who hasn’t been fooled is… someone who didn’t know me at all. How ironical. I cast a furtive glance at Scamander. He is definitely no ordinary man.

“Oh, but it looks like we have company!” Caoilfhoinn exclaims as she spots him. “Who’s that handsome young man?”

“Newt. Newt Scamander, Madam,” Scamander bows shyly, his right hand on his heart.

“Hmm… A true English gentleman, just how I like them!” She tells him with a glance full of innuendo and for an instant, Scamander genuinely looks on the verge of running away. “He reminds me that other English man you brought here a couple months ago” she says, taking me aside. “The one with blue eyes to die for. He had the same smile. What was his name again? Orpheus? Perseus?”

My blood freezes. Theseus. His name is Theseus. And yes, the smile is the same.

So he came all this way to meet Grindelwald. Even if this revelation only gives support to my theories, I feel like my heart has just been ripped out. The Cruciatus curse would feel almost tolerable compared to this pain. I lean on the back of a chair not to lose balance again.

And he never wanted to come with me to the USA… Is there a worse betrayal than coming right here and colluding with the enemy? Seeing my face instead of his? Letting him steal my life while I was dying in a rat hole? Can you make a clean break with the past and denigrate to that degree those who were part of it? I don’t even know if I am devastated or furious. Probably both. I feel tears filling my eyes. The tears I have been holding back for so long. I can’t let them fall. Not here. Not now. Definitely not.

 “Caoilfhoinn,” I say, ignoring her question because saying the name ‘ _Theseus’_ out loud would be too painful right now, “Mr Scamander and I need to talk. _Privately_.”

She nods in comprehension.

“Small table upstairs?”

“Perfect. Lamb stew for me and asparagus pie for Mr Scamander.”

“And a bottle of cranberry wine?”

“You know me too well,” I reply with a fake smile. _So well you couldn’t tell the difference between myself and Grindelwald_ , I refrain from adding.

I know what most people think of me. I know what is said behind my back. I know what nicknames I’ve been given. But during my captivity, I kept hoping that beyond their contempt, those people would end up becoming aware of the fraud. It never happened.

I am stern. I am cold. I am distant. I am bossy. I am demanding. I am caustic. I am arrogant. Yes, I’m all that. But I’m not _evil_.

At least that’s what I thought.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, how’s your pie?” I ask, after several long minutes of silence.

He doesn’t talk much, and I’m not exactly a chatterbox myself. But the silence by his side is not heavy nor boring. It’s even surprisingly comfortable.

“Hmm…” He swallows what he has in his mouth. “Delicious! What about your stew?”

“Exquisite. That’s the first decent meal I’ve had in seven months and it’s really nice.”

“Didn’t they feed you at the hospital?”

“Yes, of course they did. But their pea purée looked like sick and I’m pretty sure a troll had sneezed into their Mirabelle plum jelly,” I answer in a detached tone.

He bursts into laugh quite unexpectedly and his laugh is so contagious that I end up laughing heartily too. I don’t remember when it last happened to me. I’m not just talking about the last few months. I’m talking about the last couple of years too. I had forgotten how good it felt. It warms your heart and, just for a moment, you forget about everything.

“I wanted to thank you again,” I say, once I regain composure. “If you hadn’t unmasked Grindelwald and if you, well… if Archibald hadn’t found me, Merlin knows how long my ordeal would have lasted.”

A faint flush of pink stains his cheeks and he stares at his plate, stirring the asparagus with the tips of his fork.

“Stop it, it’s embarrassing… You make it sound like I’m some kind of hero…”

“Well, you are. It takes a hell of a lot of courage to face a destructive Obscurial and a powerful dark wizard.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No… My brother is a hero. Me…”

“Your brother…” I repeat absentmindedly, hypnotised by the ruby red coloured wine I am swirling in my glass.

“Yes. My brother. Theseus Scamander. You may have already heard his name.”

I emptied my glass in one go, as if alcohol had the power to erase painful memories.

“Indeed.”

“He’s a war hero. He was named Head of the Auror Office after the armistice. And he’s basically everything I’m not. Ambitious. Popular. Charismatic.”

I feel a hint of bitterness in his voice and I know why it’s there.

“It’s a chance you’re nothing like him.”

He looks up and stares at me for a moment, before raising his eyebrows and shaking his head in disbelief.

“I know a lot of people who would happily disagree, Mr Graves.”

I can only imagine what it must have been like, growing up in Theseus’ shadow.

“Then maybe they’re going to change their mind. Your brother is under arrest.”

His fork slips from his hand and falls heavily on his plate.

“What are you saying?”

“He’s going to be judged and sent to Azkaban.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. No one sends my brother to Azkaban. He’s the one sending people to Azkaban.”

“Your brother was Grindelwald’s preferred contact in the United Kingdom during his ascent in Eastern Europe. Besides, he helped Grindelwald to join the USA two years ago and he gave him classified information which allowed him, amongst other things, to steal my identity and infiltrate the MACUSA. I also have good reasons to think he was involved in the murder of several No-Majs in England.”

He too empties his glass in one go but for different reasons. And you can tell by the way his eyes open wide that he is not used to alcohol.

“No. No… There must be some mistake… My brother is… He’s peculiar, that’s true. He’s always been blinded by power and… he’s selfish, and calculating, but a Grindelwald’s fanatic? A murderer? That is absurd.”

I know. I struggled to accept it too.

“I’d like to rule in your favour, Mr Scamander, but I’ve been investigating your brother for years. I’ve been convinced for years of his allegiance to Grindelwald and of his implication in various sordid cases… The recent events provided the evidence needed. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s fine… Theseus and I… We… Well, we’re not exactly in good terms. The truth is we haven’t talked to each other since 1913. It’s just… He’s still my brother and… I can’t…” he says, his voice quavering.

I’d like to find words of comfort but I’ve never been good at that. And yet I understand what he means… I should have sent that arrest warrant to the British Ministry of Magic without any remorse but I had knots in my stomach. That’s one of Theseus’ strange powers. He manipulates you. He uses you. He drags your name through the mud. He breaks your heart. And then he smiles at you, and it’s impossible to hate him. Bloody smile.

Scamander closes his eyes a short instant, as if to refocus.

“That invitation, it wasn’t just to thank me, right?” He finally asks.

“No, indeed,” I answer because it would be a lie to say I hadn’t planned that conversation about his brother.

A deep sadness settles in his eyes and I wish I could make it go away. See his smile again.

The same smile as Theseus.

“I should have known better. I mean… Who would invite me to lunch just for the sake of spending time in my company?”

“It isn’t what you think it is…”

“No?” He looks out of the window as if to focus on anything else. “It really looks like that, though… Listen, if you invited me here to drag information about my brother out of me, you’re wasting your time. I told you. I haven’t been in touch with him, nor with our parents or anyone of the family for thirteen years.”

“Nooooo! No, it’s not… Mr Scamander, my invitation was sincere and I really enjoy your company, and believe me, it means a lot because I usually enjoy no one’s company but my own. But I felt duty-bound to talk to you about your brother’s arrest and about your security.”

“My security?”

“Grindewald’s arrest led to extensive press coverage around the world and I’d better tell you straightaway that you don’t exactly have many friends among his followers. Your brother’s arrest is only going to aggravate matters, particularly in England. There’s no place you can be safe. You can run and you can hide in the Moroccan desert or in the darkest depths of the equatorial jungle, they’ll find you.”

He nods, a pensive look on his face.

“Ok. Thank you for the warning.”  

I nearly choke.

“What?! I’m telling you there is a price on your head and all you’ve got to say is _‘ok’_?!!”

“What did you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know! You could get angry, you could say you’d never wanted to be involved in all this… I don’t bloody know! But you simply can’t answer _‘ok’_ as if it were of no importance!”

“If it happened, then it was bound to happen. Everything happens for a reason.”

I rub my hands over my face in exasperation.

“Mr Scamander, I _can’t_ let you leave America. Not until a safety measure is set up.”

“What if I don’t want to stay? What are you going to do to keep me here? Send me behind bars for having used my wand in a deserted alley?!”

I let out a sigh.

“No. You’re right. I can’t hold you back in New-York against your will. Unless you do something as stupid as to leave a case full of magical beasts in the hands of a No-Maj again…”

“That was an unfortunate set of circumstances.” He looks away. “I never- ”

“I know,” I cut him off. “Look, I just got out of the hospital, I haven’t taken up my post back in the MACUSA… Just give me a little time to think about your safety and about the best way to protect you… You could live at my place for some time, my house has been searched from top to bottom by the MACUSA after Grindelwald’s arrest and they cast a powerful shield charm to protect it. You’ll be safe there. And I have a spare room. I won’t disturb you.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr Graves?”

“Yes,” I reply, a little taken aback. “Sure.”

“Why are you so anxious to protect me?”

I thought it was obvious.

“Because protecting people is _my_ job. And because… I’m worried about you.”

“Then don’t be. Because _I’m_ not. My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice.”

“You can also choose not to suffer at all.”

“It’s an option I’ve never considered. Oh, crikey! Do you have the time? I told Tina and her sister Queenie I’d pop in for a cup of tea to say my goodbyes. They are expecting me at 2.30pm. I wouldn’t like to be late…”

I rummage through my coat pocket and pull out my pocket watch.

“It’s nearly two,” I say, putting the watch back into my coat.

“I’d better go!” He exclaims and I’d like to beg him to stay and to pursue our conversation but he’s already slipping on his coat.

“Before you go,” I tell him, “promise me to think about my offer.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Graves,” he replies, ignoring my request and grabbing his case. For a fraction of a second, I see two little clawed paws coming out of it but then I look again and they’re gone. I really wonder what they put into my potions. “And thank you for lunch! The asparagus pie was a real treat.” He’s making his way downstairs when he suddenly turns back. “Oh, by the way, Mr Graves?” I look at him. “Before you protect others, think about protecting yourself.”

I open my mouth to protest but there he is, giving me his best smile, and I’m speechless.

Bloody smile.

 

* * *

 

**_Thanks for reading! :-) And thank you for your encouraging comments, your kudos and bookmarks, it means a lot!_ **

**_(1)_ ** **_No need to google that name. It’s a creature I made up. ;)_ **


	3. Everything happens for a reason

_The Olympic_ ’s whistle blows three times **_(1)_ ** and I watch her leave the harbour slowly, a thick cloud of grey smoke escaping from her large funnels and merging with the silky sky. I arrived at the pier not long before the boarding was completed and I witnessed the departure of the last latecomers. Mothers’ tears. Fiancés’ kisses. Eyes full of dreams. Mouths full of promises. And handkerchiefs waved in the air. All those people who came to say their goodbyes are now leaving one by one to get on with their lives and I’ll soon be the only one left on the pier. I don’t know what I’m still waiting for. I’m not sure I actually know what I was waiting for to begin with, but a deep sadness and a sense of loneliness take over me. A sense of failure too. Protecting people is my reason to live and I’ve just let a lamb escape and run straight into a pack of sharp-toothed wolves.

If only… If only I weren’t that weakened, then I wouldn’t have struggled that much to apparate and I would have arrived earlier at the pier. Maybe a couple of minutes would have been enough. Maybe I would have managed to call out to him before he boarded that damned liner. Maybe he would have listened this time…

The idea of apparating on the boat and trying to change his mind occurs to me, but I quickly get it out of my head. If he really wants to leave, then I can’t prevent him from doing so.

I blow into my cupped hands to warm them and I close my eyes. Time seems suspended. The fresh December breeze caresses my hair. The gentle lapping of the waves and the cries of the seagulls soothe me, and even if both my body and my heart are wounded, I feel incredibly alive. I spent seven months without seeing the daylight. Not knowing if the sun was shining or if the thunder was rumbling. I thought I’d never feel the wind against my skin again. I feel like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Little by little.

Footsteps echoing against the cobblestones behind me bring me out of my reverie. They’re getting closer and words are colliding in my head. Expelliarmus… Stupefy… Confundo… Protego… Ready to gush from my mouth at the faintest threat.

“This is one amazing ship, don’t you think?” That voice. I haven’t known it for a long time but I would already recognize it anywhere. “I have always been fascinated by the things Muggles can build without any magic. Did you know there even was a swimming pool on board?”

Newton Scamander.

I turn around slowly, biting the inside of my cheeks hard enough to draw blood in a desperate attempt to refrain from smiling like an idiot.

“No,” I reply, “I didn’t know.”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye and gives me a shy smile.

“There are also Turkish baths, a library and even a Veranda Café decorated with _real_ palm trees.”

Well, there definitely wasn’t any palm tree in the _SS Leviathan_ ’s sleeping quarters. **_(2)_**

“It sounds quite… _extraordinary_.” I try to conceal the faint irony of my tone. “That’s why I really wonder what made you change your mind, Mr Scamander.”

“Oh…” His smile turns into an embarrassed grimace and he stares at his shoes, as if the mud stains covering them were somehow fascinating. “If I told you, you’d get angry.”

This piques my curiosity. He probably doesn’t want me to know that he was finally convinced by the Goldstein sisters rather than by whatever I told him yesterday. Sure, it’d be a little hurtful but not enough to spoil my enthusiasm.

“Come on, don’t be childish. I promise I won’t get angry. Tell me what made you change your mind,” I say with the quiet but slightly threatening voice I usually save for interrogations.

“Alright then…” He rummages through his coat pocket and takes out a pocket watch. “This.”

The watch swings from the end of a chain and I recognize it at a simple glance.

“But… It’s my watch,” I stammer, taken aback.

“Yes, that’s what I thought when I saw _‘W.E Graves’_ was engraved on the back of the case. I wanted to bring it to you at the MACUSA headquarters before leaving, but your secretary told me you hadn’t returned to work yet. I didn’t want her to keep the watch without knowing for sure it was yours and as time was running out, I told myself I’d contact you once I was back to London. But when I arrived here, _The Olympic_ had already left the harbour and… then I saw you and… well…”

He places the watch in the palm of my hand and I feel so relieved. That watch is very old and I never leave home without it. It’s one of my most precious possessions. I spent the whole evening looking for it yesterday (the summoning charm would have been useless as it was enchanted to keep it from being summoned by anyone but its original owner) – I even sent an owl to Caoilfhoinn to make sure I hadn’t forgotten it at the Green Clover – and I had come to terms with the idea I had lost it once and for all.

“I’d been looking for it everywhere! How…?”

He blushes.

“The culprit is in my case.”

I glance at his case and I remember the two little clawed paws I’d seen yesterday. I read Scamander’s report when I was in hospital. I even read it so many times that I know it like the back of my hand. You’d think a man who let some kind of rat-anemone attack a No-Maj savagely and a giant rhinoceros devastate Central Park would have learnt his lesson and would now be very careful not to let any single one of his creatures escape, wouldn’t you? My blood is boiling. I pinch the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes and I take a deep breath and breathe out slowly in order to calm down.

“Mr Scamander, are you trying to tell me that one of your creatures escaped from your case again, that it stole my grandfather Wilbur Everett Graves’ silver pocket watch and that it is to give it back to me that you missed that bloody boat?”

“Errr… More or less, yes. But everything’s alright now,” he hastens to add, “I got my Niffler back, and you got your watch back.”

 _Sure. Everything’s alright._ I try to convince myself _. I got my watch back, and he got –_

“YOUR WHAT?!!!”

“My niffler. It looks like a platyp-“

I raise my hand to cut him off.

“No. Don’t say anything, actually! I’ve already heard enough!”

“You’d promised you wouldn’t get angry,” he mumbles.

He’s right. I promised. I am a man of my word and there’s almost nothing I hate more than people who don’t keep their promises. And Scamander’s baby puffskein’s eyes don’t help much.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake! I’m not angry!” I exclaim. Still a bit too loud. “Do I look angry right now?”

He looks up at me and hesitates a little.

“Yes.”

Well, you cannot criticise him for being mealy-mouthed.

“No! Not at all!” I protest. “I’m just a little… discountenanced…”

My bad faith in all its splendour. He looks at me again, more closely this time.

“No, I assure you, you look _really_ furious.”

I let out a long sigh and force a huge smile on my face, so huge my zygomatic muscles hurt.

“See?” I say, pointing at my fake smile. “I’m not angry!”

He stares at me before looking away and letting out a muffled laugh which soon turns into a heartfelt and sincere laugh.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Graves, but you’re so funny!” He explains, seeing my confused look.

“Funny?” I repeat, skeptical. “Just go and ask my Aurors to describe me in a few words. _‘Funny’_ would be the last word they’d pick!”

“Well, I think you’re funny. In your very own way. You remind me of Pickett, my bowtruckle. He’s very funny, even if it’s not delibarately. And he’s always in a bad faith. Which doesn’t mean you… No! I mean… Well…”

“I have no idea what a bowtruckle is,” I mutter, “but never have I ever been said to be funny. That’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He’s still smiling from ear to ear. That bloody smile. “And don’t smile at me like that!”

“Sorry!”

He bites his lip to prevent himself from smiling and he looks even more adorable.

Dammit! Why, of all people who could have saved me, did it have to be a Scamander? I must be damned.

“So… Now that you gave the watch back to me, what do you intend to do?” I ask, glancing at the horizon. _The Olympic_ is already quite far but he could still apparate on board. On the condition that I’d turn a blind eye to the twenty-third law he’d break within a couple of days. But I don’t want him to leave. I owe him my freedom and if anything happened to him… I’d rather not think about it. “You know you can only apparate on a boat when she is sailing in the territorial waters of your country of origin. Which means you’ll only be able to apparate on _The Olympic_ when she is within twelve nautical miles from the British coast. In other words, at this distance, it would be as dangerous as apparating directly in England.” I’m not trying to dissuade him. I’m only warning him. Well, alright, in the hope that it’ll dissuade him. “You are aware, I’m sure, that long-distance apparitions are extremely risky and can have disastrous consequences. Therefore, I highly advise you agaisnt app-“

“Mr Graves,” he cuts me off.

“Yes?”

“I told you yesterday. Everything happens for a reason. If I missed the boarding, then it means I wasn’t supposed to leave America today. I have no intention to apparate on the boat.”

“Oh.”

 _Everything happens for a reason_ , I repeat in my head. What if he were right? He came to New York when Grindelwald was assuming my identity. It only took him a few days to see through the fraud while  overtrained Aurors who worked with me everyday hadn’t notice anything in seven months. He’s the one who found where I was held captive. And then his creature stole my watch, he missed his boat and here we are, on this pier. I could have left a couple of minutes ago, we would have missed each other, but I decided to wait… If they are just coincidences, then there are a hell lot of them! And I don’t even mention the fact he’s Theseus’ little brother…

“Does your…” He stares at his shoes again, looking embarrassed. “Does your proposition still hold?”

“Yes,” I reply, with a little too much enthusiasm. “It does.”

A smile lights up his face again and I feel a sudden urge to thank the Sniffer… Niffler… or whatever its name is, the creature which stole my watch yesterday…

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you have a moment?” Scamander asks as we’re walking down the 18th street and move past a fruiterer’s cart. “I need apples.”

“Sure,” I answer, a bit taken aback at first, before I remember he is a vegetarian and maybe has an apple at every meal.

“Two pounds of apples, please, Madam,” he tells the fruiterer, an old woman with a black headscarf covering her messy white hair.

“Twenty-five cents, young man!” She announces, once she has put the apples into a paper bag.

“Holy blast-ended skrewt!” He yells, rummaging through his wallet which is bursting with galleons. “I swear I had dollars in there!”

“You’re not from around here, huh?” the No-Maj tells him, looking suspicious.

“No, he’s not,” I reply dryly, before addressing Scamander “Leave it to me, I’ll take care of it.”

I pull twenty-five cents out of my wallet, give them to the fruiterer, take the bag of apples, grab Scamander by his arm and pull.

“You’re impossible!” I lecture him once we have moved away. “Your wand yesterday… Wizarding swear words and galleons today… What’s it gonna be tomorrow?!! A _‘Wizards exist and I’m proud to be one of them’_ sign around your neck?!! I’m sure the New Salem Philanthropic Society’s freaks would be delighted!”

He’s as red as a beetroot.

“I’m sorry, Mr Graves. I’ll be more careful next time.”

He looks so miserable… I roll my eyes.

“It’s ok. It isn’t such a big deal. You’re not used to the American way of life yet, that’s all,” I say, trying to make him feel better. “Here, your apples.”

I hold his bag of apples out to him and I feel almost relieved to see a huge smile back on his face.

“That’s right, I haven’t thanked you properly, sorry! Thank you very much! Betty’s gonna be overjoyed!”

“Betty?”

“My Finnish unicorn. She’s very fond of apples! She could eat them all day! I have to restrain her a little because unicorns tend to put on weight very easily and then they got depressed and partially lose their powers.”

I’ve just spent twenty-five cents on a unicorn. A Finnish unicorn. And if it ever reaches the ears of my Aurors, I will have no other choice than to resign and go far, far away from here.

 

* * *

 

“Alohomora,” I whisper to the door of an old house whose windows are barricaded with wooden planks.

The door creaks open and I wave Scamander in. His eyes open wide with astonishment as he enters the house. There is indeed a surprising contrast between the facade and the inside of the house. Outside, everything leads one to believe it is an old abandoned house. Inside, everything is white as snow. There is a sign bearing the name “Chelsea” hung on the wall, as long as a large map of the town. There are no furniture. Only a flitterbloom **_(3)_ ,** a Persian carpet and a white marble bust of Josiah Jackson, the first president of the MACUSA at the end of the XVIth century.

“So, is this… is this where you live?” Scamander asks, uncertain. “It is no surprise you were at the pier earlier. It isn’t very far from your place…”

“No,” I smile. “It’s not my house, no. I dare to hope I have better taste in interior design. It is an apparition station. There are dozens of them in New-York and in all the big cities. We use them to apparate or disapparate discreetly. Away from the prying eyes of No-Majs. They all have the same layout, only the sign changes. Therefore, once you know what the inside of an apparition station looks like, you just have to know the name of the station in which you wish to apparate – all the names are written here,” I explain, pointing at the New-York map, “the stations are usually named after the district in which they are situated **_(4)_** – and to visualise it and its sign to apparate there easily.”

“That’s… ingenious… I guess…”  

He doesn’t look fully convinced and I’m not really surprised. From what I’ve read in his file and from what I have already observe myself, Scamander is not very fond of the USA strict regulations.

“And my presence at the pier was no accident,” I continue. “I’d come to say goodbye to you, but I was late and I thought I’d missed you.”

_Everything happens for a reason._

“You… You had come to say goodbye to me?”

 _‘To try to convince you to stay’_ would be closer to the truth, but yes, I guess one could put it that way.

“It was the least I could do.”

“Usually, when I leave a place, no one comes to say goodbye. People are actually rather glad I leave.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, I annoy people and… I swear it’s not intentional, but I always cause trouble… I don’t belong anywhere…”

Yes, he is annoying. But in an endearing kind of way. I stare at him. The way his face flushes when he’s embarrassed. His inability to look straight in the eye. I’ve never seen anyone with such low self-esteem. He is worth much more than he thinks he is and I’m suddenly mad at all those people who persuaded him he would never hold a candle to Theseus. All those people who made him believe he was nothing. I want to convince him he is _someone_. I want to make him feel like he belongs here, for once…

“Cling to me,” I tell him and he abruptely looks up.

“I… I’m sorry?”

“Cling to me,” I repeat but he looks even more perplexed. “To apparate to my place. You don’t know where I live and even if you did, the current shield charms would prevent you from going any further than my front steps. So we have to apparate together.”

“Oh. Yes… Sure…”

He quickly puts his bag of apples into his case and, without the slightest hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing to do, he grabs my hand and holds it tightly. What the…? People usually grab your arm, or your shoulder, sometimes they just hold onto your coat tightly… Newt Scamander holds your hand and it definitely shouldn’t cause such a stir.

My breathing becomes fast and shallow and I stare at our joined hands, unable to move. His hand is as warm as mine is cold and its warmth spreads through my whole body.

“You’re ok, Mr Graves?” he asks, looking genuinely concerned.

I want to scream that no, I’m not ok at all. That my identity was stolen by a powerful dark wizard without anyone noticing. That seven months of sequestration and tortures have degraded my powers. That I splinched my left thumb during the outward apparition journey and that I’d rather not think what my hand would look like now had I not the presence of mind to always carry a bottle of essence of dittany. **_(5)_** And that holding my hand like that will definitely not help me to concentrate on the apparition back home!

“Yes… Sorry…” I reply, stretching my lips in a semblance of a smile. “Ready?”

He nods.

“On three,” I announce. “One…” _Destination_. “Two…” _Determination_. “Three!” _Delib_ \- **_(6)_**

 

* * *

 

_**Thanks for reading!** _

_**(1)**    _ _The Olympic was a British transatlantic ocean liner, but she didn’t know the same unfortunate fate as her sister-ships, the Titanic and the Britannic, as she had quite a long career (1911-1935)_

 _ **(2)**    _ _SS Leviathan was a German transatlantic ocean liner (originally named Vaterland) which was seized by the USA when they entered WW1 in 1917 and was used to carry American troops to France._

 _ **(3)**     _ _The flitterbloom is an ornemental plant which looks like the Devil’s Snare, the plant used to protect the philosopher’s stone, but it is harmless._

 _ **(4)**     _ _This one is Chelsea station as it is located in the 18 th street, in Chelsea district, near the Chelsea Piers and more precisely Pier 59, which was the White Star Line pier and was used by the Olympic. It should have been used by the Titanic too. I’m sorry if my descriptions of New-York are inaccurate. They’re based on old memories (I’ve only been there once in 2001) and Google! Lol. As for the apparition stations, they’re obviously the fruits of my imagination! ;-) _

_**(5)**    _ _Dittany is a magical medicinal plant. Hermione uses it to heal Ron’s splinched arm in the Deathly Hallows._

 _ **(6)**    _ _Three D’s of apparition: Destination, Determination, Deliberation_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for your comments, your alerts and your fav’! They really encourage me to keep writing. I hope you’ll still like the Percival I have in mind. I also wish you a happy new year! I hope it’ll bring you everything you hope for and much more! :-)  
> Please keep in mind that I’m French, hence the English mistakes! ;-)


	4. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to all the persons who took the time to read that story, to leave kudos or comments or to add this fanfic to their bookmarks. It really encourages me to write more, even though I unfortunately don’t have much time to write, hence the late update…. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Attention please! In the first chapter, it was said that Graves had spent seven months under the Imperius curse. I decided otherwise, as you will discover in that new chapter. Therefore, I had to make some changes in the first chapter for the sake of continuity and consistency. Thank you for  your understanding. :-)
> 
> Please keep in mind that I’m French, hence the English mistakes! ;-)

The sound of shattering glass startles me awake. I grope around frantically, searching for my wand. My hand clutches the ebony wooden stick, and I jump up, getting rid of the blanket that was wrapped around me. I let out a sigh of relief when I realise I’m not in my gloomy cell but in a familiar and comforting environment. I’m at home. In my living room. And I’m wearing nothing but my white tank top and underwear. A myriad of questions pop into my head, but before I even get a chance to come up with a coherent explanation, Gorkey, my old house-elf, rushes toward me, looking terrified.

“Oh, Master Percival! It’s a tragedy! What a horrible brat!” He exclaims, his nasal voice not helping to ease the migraine which is assailing me. “And yet Gorkey tried to stop him! Gorkey swears, Sir! But that obnoxious person kept on saying house-elves weren’t slaves and that he could manage by himself! Can you believe it?!! Oh, Master Percival, Gorkey failed in his duties, Gorkey –“

“Alright, alright! Enough, Gorkey! Calm down!” I say, preventing him from hitting his head against the wall once again. 

I step into the corridor, my face contorting at the cold contact of the marble beneath my feet. Gorkey follows in my footsteps.

“He’s in there, Master,” Gorkey indicates the kitchen with a shaky hand, as if the vilest of creatures had taken refuge in there.

There is no shaggy acromantula nor ferocious wampus cat in the kitchen, but judging by the state of the room, one could believe a galloping herd of centaurs has passed by there. The tablecloth is smudged with tomato sauce, and broken eggs has formed a slimy puddle on the tiles, in which pieces of glass are wading, probably the remains of the milk bottle which broke earlier and roused me. And, right in the middle of that unspeakable mess, Newton Scamander, dressed in grey and yellow pyjamas, tousled hair, wand in hand, is concentrating on both the pan and the frying pan on the gas stove.

“Oh… Hi! … Sorry… I woke you up…” he stammers, finally noticing my presence and casting an anxious look at Gorkey. “I didn’t know what you had for breakfast, so I made _pain perdu_ , a French speciality. Those are slices of stale bread soaked in a mixture of beaten eggs and milk and then fried on both sides and, errr… I also made baked beans… But if it’s too European to your liking, even though baked beans have actually been exported by US companies, I can… Errr…” He follows my eyes and seems to finally become aware of the chaos he sowed.  “Ah… yes… I… I’m going to fix this… Reparo!” The pieces of glass assemble and the bottle materializes. “Scourgify!” The slimy puddle and the tomato sauce stains disappear and a wide smile spreads across his face and makes me forget why I wanted to yell at him barely a moment ago. “ _Et voilà_!”

“It’s burning,” I say in a detached tone, trying hard not to let my eyes linger on his bloody smile.

“I beg your pardon?”

I nod to him in the direction of the frying pan.

“Oooooh!” He exclaims, gesturing clumsily to disperse the thick grey smoke which is invading the kitchen. And to think that it is the same guy who worked with Ukrainian ironbellies during the war, those dragons which would decimate a whole forest in less time than it would take you to scream ‘Fire!’…

I raise my wand and, with a twist of the wrist, I disperse the fog, and the _pain perdu_ ends up on a plate, next to the baked beans.

“If you can’t cook, you call on a house-elf…” Gorkey grumbles. “It is because of that kind of humans that the house-elves’ rate of unemployment increases. In my time-“

“Gorkey!” I cut him off, as I take a seat. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Well, this morning, Gorkey has already mopped the floor,” he enumerates on his fingers, “ironed your laundry, cleaned the –“

“I’m sure there still are some cobwebs left in the attic,” I say, a threatening smile on my lips, staring at him until he lowers his eyes.

“Most certainly, Master,” he answers reluctantly. “Gorkey will take care of it right away. Gorkey remains at your disposal for anything you may need. And above all,” he glares at Scamander, “if that despicable creature dares to bother Master Percival again, Master Percival just says the word and Gorkey will kick the troublemaker out and ensure he never sets foot in that house again.”   

 I roll my eyes but Gorkey doesn’t wait for my reply. He snaps his fingers and disappears before Scamander’s dumbfounded look. The latter remains momentarily speechless before he sits down in front of me.

“Such a strange house-elf. I’ve never seen one like that before,” he tells me, half shocked, half amused.

“You’ll have to get used to it. Gorkey’s not a bad guy, but he’s not very fond of strangers. Especially those who try to steal his job.”

“What?!” He cries out. “No! It’s not… It’s not what I… I didn’t want to bother him, that’s all. I meant well!”

“Of course,” I reply with a kindly smile, “just like I meant well when, years ago, I offered him to free him after he had already spent more than a century at my family’s service. He cried foul, he screamed, he burst into tears, he threatened to burn my wardrobe to make sure I could not present him with clothes… That was terrible! He only calmed down when I adamantly promised I’d never free him…”

“That’s… fascinating…”

While Scamander seems lost in his thoughts, I glance at my plate. Come on! If I survived hospital food, those measly burnt slices of bread are not going to get the better of me. I close my eyes and stuff the loaded fork into my mouth. “Hmm… That’s the best _pain perdu_ I’ve ever had!”

“Don’t laugh at me,” he pouts.

“I swear I’m not laughing at you, I’m very serious. That’s the best _pain perdu_ I’ve ever had,” I assure him once again. “But that’s only because I’ve never had any before. Actually,” I continue, “it’s absolutely disgusting.”

He laughs. Shyly at first. And then, loudly.

And when Newton Scamander roars with laughter, it’s like a summer sky on the night of the Fourth of July **_(1)_**. He is literally shining. I can’t take my eyes off his perfectly aligned teeth, off the light pink of his cheeks and off the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. I watch him with childish amazement. Touched. Mesmerised. Seduced.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry!” He struggles to speak through his laughter. “I’ve never been good at cooking!”

His laugh is so infectious I’d almost forget what is tormenting me. I wait for him to calm down before I speak again.

“Mr Scamander-“

“Newt,” he interrupts me. “You can call me Newt.”

“Newt,” I repeat, looking him in the eye and, for some reason, saying his firstname outloud would almost make me smile foolishly, had the circumstances been different. “I really enjoy your company, but I’m sure you know my mind is a little preoccupied, don’t you?”

He nods.

“You want to know why you feel like you missed out on the fifteen last hours of your life…”

“Yes,” I reply calmly, my hands clasped on the table. “Yes, indeed. What happened after the apparition? I can’t even remember getting home…”

“You passed out,” he explains, confirming my doubts. “Our landing was a bit… rough… And when you came to, you were shaking… Soaked with sweat… Delirious… You kept saying…” He hesitates for an instant. “My brother’s name…” I freeze. I hope Theseus’ name is the only thing I mentioned about him… “So I made you lie on the couch,” he continues. “I rid you of your clothes. I made you drink a potion made from yarrow and Shrake spines **_(2)_** to reduce your fever and I stayed by your side all night…”

I study his face more carefully. The freckles under his eyes are drowned in puffy dark circles, and if he looked much younger than his age yesterday, it’s not the case anymore today. I feel guilty. Powerless. Helpless.

Useless.

I offered him protection. I promised myself to look after him. The roles were not supposed to be reversed!

“I… I have no words to describe how sorry I am, Newton,” I stammer. “So terribly sorry. I was supposed to protect you, not to put your life in danger. That is unforgivable.”

“What are you talking about? I’m perfectly fine,” he says with a shrug.

“I could have splinched you!” I cry, disconcerted by his lack of reaction. “Or worse!”

“Yes, I guess such a thing could have happened. But I’m still in one piece, as far as I know. So why make such a big fuss?”

I let out a sigh of exasperation.

“You don’t understand!”

“What I understand, Mr Graves, is that you don’t recover from seven months of torture in so little time… For Merlin’s sake, look at you! It’s a miracle you’re still alive!”

I understand immediately what he’s talking about. My eyes fix upon my arms. My legs. My upper torso which my tank top reveals. Of course, there are the older scars, some of them being the trophies of a twenty-year career as an Auror, others being the sinister vestiges of a war far too cruel. But Scamander isn’t referring to these scars. He’s talking about the infected wounds. The bruises. The burns. Not a single bit of my skin has been spared and the vast wasteland my body has become only reflects the darkness of my torturer’s soul. Those months which seemed like years to me. The violence which had become my daily lot. To such an extent that I didn’t even fight anymore.

Sometimes, the effects of Transfiguration had not worn off yet when Grindelwald visited me **_(3),_ ** so he tortured me using my own appearance. And there probably is nothing more disturbing than being hurt by someone who looks exactly like you. Your spitting image. You end up hating yourself, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at my reflection in the mirror without feeling nauseous. The face of a merciless monster who had made me his puppet for far too long…   

I brush a suppurating wound on my left forearm with my thumb and I suddenly press hard on it. Just to make sure this is not a bad dream. The pain is so sharp I have to grit my teeth. No, everything is real. The wounds are still there, a constant reminder of my stay in Hell. They are now part of who I am and the mediwizards’ incantations didn’t overcome them. Doctor Maynard only managed to heal the ones on my face, except one cut which goes from under my left eye to the middle of my cheek.

I can feel Scamander’s gaze probing me and I slowly look up at him. His whole face is dripping with empathy and compassion and it makes me sick. I feel like a turtle without a shell. Naked. Weak. Ugly.

If I weren’t such a coward, if I weren’t that afraid to pass out again, I would apparate. Anywhere. Far away from him. Far away from them all.

“Accio dressing gown,” I manage to articulate in a barely audible voice.

Seconds later, my black silk gown is floating by my side and I hurry to put it on. It’s a simple piece of fabric. It doesn’t erase anything, it only hides while I’d like to disappear completely. I think of that cloak. That invisibility cloak. The one from the children’s bedtime stories. If only such a cloak could exist…

Scamander puts his hand on my arm and I jump at his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Mr Graves… I really didn’t…”

I look up at him from the dark strands of hair falling over my eyes. He looks genuinely sorry and I shake my head, as if to tell him to forget about all that.

“The Cruciatus curse doesn’t leave any visible mark,” he re-enters the fray. “And simple wounds wouldn’t have caused any problem to mediwizards. So what other spells did he inflict on you, Mr Graves?”

My blood turns to ice. Grindelwald’s voice echoes in my head. Spells I had never heard before. My skin. Ripped. Burnt. Twisted. And blood. So much blood. _My_ blood. His disgusting mouth pressed against my lips. Against my neck. His body against mine. Repulsive. Depraved. Once he had taken all there was to take, he left me for dead in my cell. In my vault. Until his next visit.

“Not going to talk about that,” I mumble.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to. It belongs to the past,” I reply, avoiding his eyes.

“Are you sure about that?”

 Always that same impudence. And yet, there is not an ounce of malevolence in his voice.

“Could you just…” I want to tell him to shut up but the words remain stuck in my throat. Because he’s right. Of course he’s right. What I have been through doesn’t belong to the past. It haunts my present, just as it will haunt my future. My vision becomes blurry and I quickly rub my eyes with the palms of my hands to wipe away the tears that are threatening to fall. “Bloody fucking hell!” I stand up, pushing the table away violently. “Mind your own damn business, Scamander!”

Sadness washes over his face and I already regret my words, but before I can mumble some apologies, he furrows his brows and seems to get a hold of himself.

“It will take more than that to get rid of me. I succeeded in taming the wildest creatures. I’m not one to easily give up, Mr Graves.”

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, I’m not one of your creatures, Newton!”

“And I’m not a poor defenceless little thing!” He retorts, his fists clenched, and he looks as surprised as I am at the tone of his voice. “And yet you asked me to stay here because you couldn’t stand the idea of letting me leave without any protection! Well, I can’t stand seeing you in such a state and not doing anything to help!”

“I don’t need help,” I grumble.

“Aren’t you fed up not being honest with yourself?!” He lectures me like a father would lecture his child. “Don’t want my help? Fine! But I’m taking you back to hospital!”

“What?!” I exclaim. “No way! Going back to hospital would be admitting I was wrong!”

“But you were wrong! You should have never left against the mediwizards’ advice!”

When I think I left hospital because I wanted to dissuade him from leaving the country… Because I worried about him…

“Yes, alright, I was wrong! But no one has to know!”

“Well, _I_ know!” He stands up too, his face flushed.

I take a deep breath.

“Scamander,” I say, pointing my finger into his chest, “I swear, I am this close to casting an Unforgivable Curse.”

At the MACUSA headquarters, that threat would have been enough to make my Aurors hide under their desks and cast protective spells around them, ‘just in case’… But Scamander doesn’t move an inch, even worse, he sports a huge grin.

“And what, pray tell, makes you smile?” I ask, raising an inquisitive brow.

“Nothing! It’s just…” He nervously pulls at his sleeve. “In all sincerity, I’d rather see you like this than looking all upset like earlier.” He glances at me. “If only you told me which spells he used, I could try to prepare an ointment to ease your pain and accelarate the healing process…”

I open my mouth, ready to let loose a string of biting remarks, but he seems to have read my mind.

“No, please, don’t say anything!” He cries, covering my mouth with his hand. “I know what you’re thinking. But believe me, I’m much better at making potions than I am at cooking, and I have extremely rare ingredients in my workshop, the kind of ingredients even the best hospitals in the world can’t get hold of…”

I immediately think ‘black market’, ‘illegal’, ‘breach’… Under normal circumstances, I would deluge him with questions to make him spill the name of his suppliers who I then would track one by one, but his face is barely a few inches away from mine. And my eyes are lost in his. And my breath becomes heavy. And I’m not quite sure it is only because Scamander’s hand is covering both my mouth and my nose…

“Let me help you, Percival,” he whispers, looking at me with pleading eyes. “Please…”

 _Percival_ … He called me _Percival_ …

He takes his hand away slowly, unintentionally brushing my lips with his fingers, and my heart should definitely not beat that fast. I clear my throat.

“I’m going to take a bath,” I say, stepping away from him. I pause in the doorway and address him over my shoulder. “Thank you for breakfast.”  

 

* * *

 

“Diffendo!”

The large mirror of the bathroom cracks and shatters, taking away the reflection of that body I no longer recognise. Of that body that repels me.

I step into the water slowly and I make the bruises and wounds disappear under a blanket of coconut scented foam. If warm water relaxes my muscles, soap doesn’t rid me of my demons and Grindelwald comes back to haunt me.

“Spirabulla,” **_(4)_** I whisper before I let myself slide lower into the water, until my head is completely immersed, the bubble which has formed around my face allowing me to breathe under water easily.

I always do that when I need to shut myself away from the rest of the world. Being under water calms me and helps me to empty my mind.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but the water has turned cold and my hands are so wrinkled they look like those of an old man. I step out of the tub and a couple of incantations later, I am dry, dressed and my hair is styled, and more importantly, I am determined to make my apologies to Scamander. After all, I’m the one who offered him to stay here, and he’s only trying to help. It just isn’t fair to unleash the anger I had been containing for too long on him.

 

* * *

 

“Newton?” I call to him as I enter the living-room.

He is nowhere to be seen and I begin to fear my behaviour scared him away.

“Newton?” I try again, a burst of guilt filling my guts.

“Will you shut up, young man!” I start and turn to the portrait of my half-blood great-aunt Greta, an old woman wearing a black dress with a lace collar fastened by a cameo brooch. “You wouldn’t want to wake that poor boy, would you? He spent the whole night looking after you, that would be cruel not to let him enjoy a well-deserved nap! That Newton boy is a true angel!” She exclaims delightedly, hands joined, all dreamy, before she frowns and casts me a disapproving look. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you, Percival Graves! I heard you talk to him earlier… Threatening him with an Unforgivable Curse?! Is that a way to treat the person who makes your heart beat?!”

“Wh… What?!!” I nearly choke. “No! No, you are mistaken! It isn’t what you –“

“Shhhhhhhh!” She cuts me off, one finger on her mouth, indicating the couch with her free hand. I walk away with a shrug.

 

I can’t help but smile while watching Scamander fast asleep on the couch. The old bat isn’t completely wrong. Newton really does look like an angel. **_(5)_**

 

* * *

 

 

 _ **(1)**_     This obviously refers to Independence Day’s fireworks.  

 _ **(2)**  _   If it is true that yarrow can be used to reduce fever, we know nothing about Shrakes except that it is a magically-created species of fish whose spines can be used as a potion ingredient. I disclaim all responsibility if you decide to try them to lower your temperature! Haha!

 _ **(3)**_     JKR revealed Grindelwald didn’t use polyjuice but his amazing Transfiguration skills to take on the appearance of Percival Graves. This obviously raises a lot of questions. Some people question the very existence of a real Percival Graves. As far as I’m concerned, I like to believe he really does exist, but that in order to impersonate him, Grindelwald needed to know plenty of things about him. In this fanfic, it is Theseus, Percival’s former lover, who gave Grindelwald all the stories and informations he needed to impersonate Graves (personality traits, habits, personal and professional backgrounds past and present…), as for the rest (facial expressions, body language, voice…), Grindelwald is just an excellent observer and all he had to do was spend time with Graves in his cell to imitate him to perfection. I also think he took the time to spy on the MACUSA and on the people working there to fade into the background. But all that is nothing but a theory I invented to write this fanfiction. :)

 ** _(4)_  **   As I didn’t remember the incantation for the Bubble-head charm (that spell used by Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour to breathe under water during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament), I don’t even remember being mentioned anywhere to be honest (I’m sorry if it was!), I made one up based on the Latin ‘Spirare’ (to breathe) and ‘Bulla’ (bubble)

 _ **(5)**_     Yes, I know! Wizards are not supposed to know about angels. But Greta was a half-blood wizard, so, with one of her parents being a muggle, imagine for an instant that she received a Christian education. Percival likes his great-aunt much more than he pretends to, and I’m sure that he learnt a lot of things about Muggles through spending time with her! ;-)

 

* * *

 

_**Thanks for reading!** _ _**:-)** _


	5. Gilded Cage

** CHAPTER 5 - GILDED CAGE.  **

Tilting my head back, I open my mouth to collect the last drop of Blishen's **_(1)_.** It clings on the neck of the flask - tiny bead of amber glinting in the light - before it falls into my throat, and runs down my oesophagus like a hot lava flow.

I scrub a weary hand over my face and my eyes once again fix upon the suitcase open on the floor. The suitcase in which Newton Scamander disappeared in the middle of the afternoon.

Bloody Scamander.

He's the reason I started drinking again while I had promised myself never to touch a drop of alcohol again. Except perhaps for the cranberry wine.

You feel invincible when you drink. You feel like nothing can reach you anymore. Neither the poison of the past running through your veins, nor the abominations of everyday life that keep you from falling into Morpheus' arms every night **_(2)._** You believe you're impervious to the darkness of the world. You forget how lonely you are. And then one night, you've had so many drinks that the bar manager refuses to pour you another one. "That's enough for tonight, Mr Graves. You should go back home now. Tomorrow's another day."

Home. We barely remember where that is and we don't think clearly enough to apparate there. It's late and we get lost in the city's monotonous grid-pattern of streets. They all look the same in the dark.

And lurking in the shadows like a spider patiently waiting for its prey, someone is waiting for us at the corner of a street. Someone who has been observing us long enough to know our habits. Someone who spinned their web neatly. Someone who understood perfectly that alcohol didn't make you invincible. Quite the contrary.

Our reaction is diminished. Our gestures are uncoordinated. Our hand is shaking when it draws our wand as the pale light of the street lamp reveals a familiar face. A face we have seen so many times on the front-page or on wanted-notices with the promise of an exorbitant reward. But before we even remember a single spell, we find ourselves behind bars, just like those colourful birds which are snatched away from their native jungle to divert rich people with a craving for exoticism. _Tomorrow_ had really been another day. And on that day, I'd sworn that if I made it alive, I would stop drinking.

Well, I'm as alive as I can be and there is clear evidence that I failed miserably.

Two days ago, when I came back from that dinner with Newton Scamander, I drank. I didn't drink because seven months of my life had been stolen from me. I didn't drink to try to forget the nightmares and the pain. No. I drank because I didn't want him to leave America. Newton, I mean. I didn't want him to leave. For... obvious reasons.

Because I felt indebted to him.

Because without him, I would still be rotting in my cell.

Because an asparagus pie really wasn't enough to show my gratitude.

And above all, because as the Director of Magical Security, it was my job - my _duty_ \- to protect him.

It had nothing to do with the fact he was Theseus' baby brother. No. Absolutely nothing to do. I had already forgotten that detail, for that matter.

Nothing to do with his delicate porcelain features either, no. Nor with the strange colour of his eyes. Or with his high cheekbones. Or his -

Dammit.

I drank because I didn't want him to leave. Now I'm drinking because he stayed.

He stayed and I'm not sure anymore it is a good idea. He stayed and I already know he made me his prisoner. He got me out of my gloomy cell to lock me up in a gilded cage.

A smile. That's all it took him. A smile. No. Not just _a_ smile. _That_ smile. That bloody smile. The very same Theseus wore every time we argued. The one that made me want to strangle him with my own hands, but also the one that made me mumble _'Ye_ _s, of course, I forgive you'_ , even if he had just broken my heart into a thousand pieces. Because there's absolutely nothing I can do against that smile.

I tried to forget it. I tore up the photographs. I buried the memories deep inside my mind so that they disappear under a thick layer of dust. And when I thought I was finally on the road to recovery, that smile comes from nowhere to haunt me again.

The only difference is that Theseus was fully aware of the power that smile had on me. Newton... Well, Newton doesn't have the faintest idea. He smiles at you with the innocence of a child. He makes you lower your guard and before you even realise it, just like the Trojan horse, he enters the fortress of your heart without inviting suspicion.

So, when he asked me the details of my captivity earlier, when he told me he knew how difficult it was going to be for me, and that he added with a smile - _that_ smile - that he would wait as long as necessary, Merlin, how could I say no?! What was I supposed to say when the December timid sunlight filtered through the windows and turned his freckles into golden glitters? After having spent seven months without seeing the daylight, how could I not be dazzled?

I told him everything.

No. Not exactly. There are _details_ that I deliberately left out. I'm sure he realised it, but he didn't ask any question. He listened. Very patiently. His eyes fixed on the lunascope he was nervously fiddling with.

I told him much more than I told President Picquery. Much more than I told the mediwizards. Strangely enough, once I had started talking, I just couldn't stop. It's like his smile had opened the floodgates of a dam. Words were flowing out, but Scamander didn't drown.

He didn't make any comment, he didn't pity me, and I feel relieved. It would have only made things harder for me. He only looked up when I mentioned Grindelwald used spells in a foreign language.

"Do you remember their incantations?" he asked.

I frowned. That sounded such an absurd question. I was laying myself bare, sharing some of the worst moments of my life with him, and of all the questions he could have asked, he decided to ask me if I could repeat some odd-sounding words.

"What is it to you?" I asked, a little offended.

"Do you remember them?" He insisted, paying no attention to my irritation.

I gritted my teeth. Of course I remember their incantations. I heard them so many times. At the beginning, I held my head up high, even when I knew what was coming for me. Out of pride. Because that was all I had left. But he ended up taking it away from me as well. And I lowered my eyes. And I begged. And the more I begged, the more he jubilated.

I repeated the incantations one by one, in a barely audible voice. Each one of them unearthing ominous memories. It was like I relived each single moment. Broken bones. Torn skin. Burnings. Unbearable cold. Nightmarish hallucinations.

"Hungarian..." He replied absent-mindedly. "I know these spells... Two years ago, the Hungarian magical government contacted me to -" He stopped and his face brightened up. "Have you ever seen a Hungarian horntail, Mister Graves?"

"Only in books," I shrugged.

"That's a formidable dragon. The worst of all! It can go from 0 to 150 miles per hour within a couple of seconds. Its flames can reach to about fifty feet. It can eat a whole sheep but it can eat humans too should the opportunity arise... That's such a fascinating animal!"

That's when it dawned on me that Scamander and I had a slightly different concept of the word 'fascinating'... What I actually find absolutely fascinating is the way the passion animates him whenever he talks about his creatures. He was talking about a bloodthirsty monster and he had me completely captivated... He could have read _One thousand magical herbs and fungi **(3)**_ from cover to cover and I would still have listened to him avidly. 

"Females are particularly aggressive," he continued, drawing me out of my reverie. "Especially when protecting their eggs. It is to rid Budapest of one of them that the Hungarian Minister for Magic called on me. I only accepted on condition that no harm was done to the female horntail and that I could then release her in the Carpathians. They wanted to eliminate her as she had already devoured five persons and burnt several buildings by the time I arrived in Budapest, but I knew she didn't attack without any reason. Someone had stolen her eggs and had used them to lure her into the town. A manhunt was declared and the Aurors ended up arresting Mihály Cazacu."

"Mihály Cazacu?" I repeated.

"Does the name ring a bell?"

I nodded.

"He was one of Grindelwald's biggest fanatical supporters in Eastern Europe. Hold on a second... Are you talking about the battle of..."

"Gyöngyös?" He finished my sentence. "Yes. Yes... I was there... That's where I heard those Hungarian spells. The very same Grindelwald used against you."

The Battle of Gyöngyös, north-east of Budapest. Eighty-four victims. Twenty-three Aurors of different nationalities. Thirty-seven civilians, included the Hungarian Minister for Magic himself. Eleven No-Majs. And twenty-six Grindelwald sympathisers. I knew the facts, but I ignored the exact causes. **_(4)_**

I looked at Scamander in admiration and surprise. He may look frail, but that boy was a part of the bloodiest battle the History of Magic has known in the last fifty years and, if I rely on the report I was given about him, acromantulas, grindylows and others ferocious three-headed dogs, are as dangerous as a puffskein in his hands.

"I know what those spells provoke," he continued. "I watched people die in terrible pain right in front of me. Avada Kedavra would almost pass for a gentle death in comparison. I know I've already said it, but it truly is a miracle that you're still alive, Mister Graves."

An awkward silence fell between us. Deep down, I was wondering if I should enjoy that miracle. If death would not have been preferable. I am so tired of that existence. So tired. Newton seemed to read me like an open book.

"You know," he suddenly went on, "I helped the mediwizards to tend to the injured. And I excelled at potions when I was at Hogwarts. I know my onions **_(5)_ ,** you have to trust me. Let me help, please!" 

My gaze lingered a little too long on the hand he had just put on my knee, and a deep sigh escaped my lips.

"After all I've been through, I guess it wouldn't be too much of a risk," I heard myself say.

He smiled from ear to ear, just like a kid who would have just been given a Cleansweep One as a birthday present **_(6)_**. I would have rolled my eyes had I not found that scene so touching.

"I'll be downstairs, if you need me!" He exclaimed before he disappeared into his suitcase. It's been three hours now.

Bloody Scamander.

I stare at my distorted reflection in the metal of the flask. The gash under my left eye looks even bigger and uglier, and I hate myself a little more. In a fit of rage, I throw the flask with all my strength. It hits the wall with a deafening noise. Great-Aunt Greta, who was dozing off in her frame, wakes up with a start.

"Holy Merlin! Percival Pellinore Lamorak Graves!" **_(7)_** she exclaims, a hand on her chest to get her breath back. "You're lucky I have already passed on! My poor heart would have given out and _you_ would have had my death on your already far too heavy conscience! Have a little respect for your ancestors, my boy!"

I mumble some excuses and get up. I don't hold my drink anymore. I feel dizzy, and my legs feel weak, but I drag myself as best as I can to the suitcase. I crouch down and mutter some curses as I nearly lose my balance.

Well... It actually looks like a perfectly ordinary suitcase. The inside is covered with a clover-patterned fabric which makes me feel dizzier. I risk a hand inside. It goes right through the bottom of the suitcase. Ingenious, really.

"Newton?" I try, loud enough for him to hear me.

I feel a little ridiculous, talking to an empty suitcase, just like an old alcoholic who'd apologise after bumping into a street light. It is not long though before I hear Scamander's voice.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure you don't want Gorkey to cook you dinner?"

"I thought he could cook by himself," I hear Gorkey grumble in the kitchen.

"Shut up, Gorkey!" I snarl.

He appears before me with a snap of his fingers, his face distorted by a mocking smile which looks more like a hideous grimace.

"You've grown fond of him, haven't you?"

I give him a dirty look, pressing my forefinger against my lips and gesticulating wildly in the direction of the suitcase.

"Will you never learn from your mistakes, Master? Last time you became infatuated with a Scamander, things didn't turn out that well..."

"I am _not_ infatuated with -" I start to justify myself before I pull myself together. "I believe I have asked you to keep quiet, Gorkey!"

"I just wouldn't want you to suffer once again. You've had more than enough pain for one lifetime."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," I say dryly, as if it would kill me to admit I am deeply touched by his kindness.

"I apologise, Master," he bows respectfully and disappears.

I try to ignore the guilt which is overtaking me, and I focus my attention on the suitcase again.

"Newton, I'm sorry, I didn't hear your reply! Do you want something to eat?"

"No, no! I'm not hungry, thank you! I'm almost finished! Come downstairs, if you wish!"

I hesitate a short instant before I stand up and bunny hop into the suitcase.

"AAAAAAAAHHH...!"

 

* * *

**_(1) Blishen's is a firewhisky brand._ **

**_(2) Percival refers to the past which is haunting him, and to the crimes and the violence he witnesses every day at work and which prevent him from sleeping at night: from falling into Morpheus' arms._ **

**_(3) One thousand magical herbs and fungi_ ** **_is an herbology textbook which was written by Phyllida Spore during the 15 th century. It was still used at Hogwarts in the 90s, and we can assume Percival also studied it when he was at Ilvermorny._ **

**_(4) If Gyöngyös does exist, Mihai Cazacu and the battle of Gyöngyös are the fruits of my imagination._ **

**_(5) Apparently, that expression was used in the 1920s as an equivalent of the more modern 'I know my stuff'._ **

**_(6) The Cleansweep One was commercialised in 1926 by the Cleansweep Broom Company. It was the first racing broom designed for sporting use. (Source: Quidditch through the ages)._ **

**_(7) In the Arthurian legend, Percival was the son of King Pellinore and the young brother of Lamorak. In my headcanon, Percival's parents had a fondness for celtic legends._ **

* * *

 

 **_ Thank you for reading! _ ** **_:-)_ **

**Published on October.22 2017**

**Author's Note:**

> Please, keep in mind that I'm French, hence the English mistakes!


End file.
